


Won't Forget What It Was To Be

by Bagell



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Exes to Lovers, F/F, Friendship, Guilt, Longing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-11-13 04:03:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18024302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagell/pseuds/Bagell
Summary: “You know,” he starts, and she stiffens, bracing herself for the lecture she knows is about to come.His voice softens. “We all miss you.”It’s not what she was expecting. Not because she expected unkind, insensitive from him. She’s just grown accustomed to little niggling thoughts in her head that she doesn’t indulge in but still feels. It’s been weeks. Two months. She’s not as sad so you shouldn’t be either. Staying in won’t bring her back. All thoughts she’s nudged away in favor of strawberry ice cream. And the occasional cookie dough. Not french vanilla. As much as she’s grown to like it, not french vanilla.She squeezes her eyes shut at the invasive thought.Clary and Maia broke up two months ago. They handle it in different ways, but maybe they're meant to be together. They seem to land in the same place after all.





	1. Wondering Where I've Been; Harm in Having Two or Three

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote another james tw song fic and i can't say i regret it
> 
> song: [Ex](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYKUtkf6Tc0), by James TW
> 
> [cw// alcohol]

“Clary.”

A jacket lands on top of her head and she half yelps half groans. In the next second, Jace is in her face, pulling her head up while simultaneously brushing a hand through her hair and checking her forehead.

“What.” It’s simple, annoyed, impatient. Exactly how Clary feels right now. Minus the simplicity.

Jace flicks her forehead. “Don’t ‘ _what_ ’ me.” He rights the jacket and pulls it around her shoulders. “Comb your hair back. We’re going out.”

Clary gives him a look that’s equally incredulous as it is offended. “It’s a Sunday night. Tomorrow is Monday. And I’m sick.”

“I just checked your forehead. You’re not sick, as much as you do look like death. And it’s Saturday.” He repeats, “We’re going out.”

Clary groans, long and loud as Jace gets up and walks to somewhere in the apartment. “ _Why_ ?”

“Because Alec and Izzy haven’t seen you in ages, and they’re beginning to think you died,” he calls. “Not to mention Magnus, who looks closer to burning down the door of this apartment every time you don’t show.”

Something in Clary’s heart twists heavily at the mention of her big brother figure. She hesitates, then skirts past it. Ignores the tell much like she’d been ignoring him. She barely musters a snort in response to the former sentence. “As if that isn’t the first conclusion y’all jumped to.”

Jace grins as he comes back around the couch, holding a comb, a couple hairties, and pins. “It really has been too long if you’re thinking that. Obviously that was _my_ first thought, and they told me I was dumb.”

Clary stares at him. “You’re my roommate.”

“And I did say earlier that you look like death. Point still stands. Chin up.” He purses his lips slightly as he nudges her chin back to sweep the flyaway hairs from her face. He grimaces at the sheer amount of tangles that meet the comb when he tries to pull it through. “When’s the last time you combed your hair?”

Clary raises a brow, staring off into space. “Depends. How many ice cream cartons were in the bin last you checked?”

Jace makes a face. “Dude.” Then, quieter, “At least she got up at some point to throw them away.”

Clary gets a little bit of satisfaction out of the fact that Simon was the one to dispose of them days ago, not her.

 

Later, after Jace has hauled her into his mom-inherited minivan and they’re driving through the rapidly filling streets of New York, he speaks again.

“You know,” he starts, and she stiffens, bracing herself for the lecture she knows is about to come.

His voice softens. “We all miss you.”

It’s not what she was expecting. Not because she expected unkind, insensitive from him. She’s just grown accustomed to little niggling thoughts in her head that she doesn’t indulge in but still feels. _It’s been weeks. Two months. She’s not as sad so you shouldn’t be either. Staying in won’t bring her back._ All thoughts she’s nudged away in favor of strawberry ice cream. And the occasional cookie dough. Not french vanilla. As much as she’s grown to like it, not french vanilla.

She squeezes her eyes shut at the invasive thought, turning instead to Jace a little, only to look back at her lap. She had let herself be pulled into a dark maxi jumpsuit and waited as Jace fixed her hair into double buns, flapping away her hands when he insisted that if he didn’t do this himself, she’d find some loophole out of this.

It’s true. She probably would.

As it is, she’s been ignoring him for the time, as much as she can do to a roommate and close friend.

Simon’s been helpful. Of course he has. But he’s friends with Maia too, and Clary knows he’d gotten so much closer to her throughout the time Clary had been dating her. There’s only so much he can do, and after selfishly holding onto him for weeks, Clary had all but pushed him away, feeling sick to her stomach at the idea of keeping her best friend away from other people in his life. Ones who’d be hurting just as much as Clary. Or so she selfishly hoped.

God.

She squeezes her eyes shut.

 _Maia_.

How could a girl so positively _fantastic_ \--

She stops the thought right there.

Instead, she breathes out, a thin little huff of a breath. “Really?” she says, going for joking and sounding a tinge too bitter. Quietly, she whispers. “No lecture?”

They come to a stop at a red light and Jace spares a look at her. She can’t look back at him, though. He looks so sad, and though she knows he wouldn’t purposely show it, _pitying_.

She pities herself too.

He pulls a hand from the steering wheel and puffs it against her hair. “No,” he says.

He sounds heartbroken, and Clary hates that she’s hurt her friend like this. That pulling away because she doesn’t know what else to do, because she won’t let her mind rest enough to settle on a thought that’ll tell her what to do lest it goes to one that will hurt even more, that doing this hurt one of her closest friends.

Multiple, probably. She winces. Magnus is definitely worried sick. Simon is caught between two absolute messes.

Maybe tonight was a good idea. _Is_ , a good idea.

It’ll be good to see her friends again. Great, even. Despite her huddling and hiding away, she does miss them. Immensely so.

Maybe she’ll have a few drinks. Dance a bit. Let loose and let the alcohol let her mind loose too.

But not too loose.

Not… Not enough to lose.

But a little.

A little would be good for her.

 

When Clary steps into the crowded club and makes her way in, it doesn’t take long for her to be forcefully pushed back, wrapped in warm arms and a strong embrace, a tensely held face held in the crook of her neck.

“Dumbass,” Magnus says, harshly, and it’s all Clary can do to muster a small, wet laugh.

It’s full minutes later when Magnus pulls back, and though he’s still strung tight, relief courses through his body visibly. He runs hands across her face and shoulders and tells her, quietly but firmly, insistently and caringly, “You need to take care of yourself.”

She pauses, teeth gritted and tears forming, and nods. “Yeah,” she says simply. Not ‘I will’, or ‘I am’, because one of those isn’t concrete and the other is false, but she’ll try. For him if not for anyone else. For her friends who are so worried about her.

He nods back at her, exhaling. “Come on, Biscuit,” he says, and Clary releases a slightly louder laugh at that. It feels good to be called something so familiar by him. Familiar is good, she thinks.

She lets him lead her back to the table they’ve laid claim to before she arrived, where Jace has already settled himself when he saw Magnus come over.

Izzy stands then as Magnus sits and Clary’s being pulled into a smaller embrace, not as tight as Izzy usually so loves to hug but with room for Clary to budge, for Clary to breathe. She knows it’s emotional as much as it is physical, and she brings her hands up to stroke at Isabelle’s back in thanks. She whispers it in her ear, too, for good measure, and to show Izzy she’s here.

Something in her pangs when Izzy pulls back and gives her a grateful smile. Grateful, like it’s something to be thanked for in showing up, coming out of the apartment, in ceasing to ignore her friends but only after one of them drags her out.

Alec comes next, pulling her to his chest with one arm and settling the other hand against her head. They’ve come far as friends and his support has grown to mean the world to Clary, even during all the horrible, horrible messes that he had the misfortune of always happening upon.

She supposes this is just one of many, and has to hide a self-deprecating sound in his shirt.

She pulls back, not wanting to cry just yet tonight and settling in the booth between Magnus and Jace, grabbing onto the amber brown drink they hand her and sucking on the rim as she tips back her head.

It’s sweet, and goes straight to her head, which seems to be exactly what she needs.

It’s kind of exactly like Maia in that sense.

Which also means Clary has definitely not had enough, to be thinking those thoughts and feel a pain much different than the effects of alcohol shooting through her head. She tosses it back and swallows deeply, throwing down the glass and smiling lazily at her group.

Yes. Drinks are good.

And honestly, more could be better.

The few Maia thoughts she’s had tonight have been far too many that she’s supposed to indulge in.

They order a round of shots for all of them, grinning and laughing even as they’re still shooting her little concerned looks that she pretends not to notice.

It’s later in the night where they’re laughing more genuinely, shouting out jokes and letting out exaggerated coos when Izzy brings up an embarrassing Magnus story and Alec leans down to kiss him better.

Clary’s full in, insisting she’s fine (in more ways than one) and that the two or three drinks she’s had have been nothing. They all know it was more but it’s the most they’ve seen her let loose in months, most they’ve seen of _her_ in months, so it’s all good. A little pain is expected, and this is a first night of many.

“Clary,” Izzy says, eyes shining. “Come on, it’s getting later. Let’s _dance_.” Izzy’s hair tosses as she shimmies her shoulders excitedly and Clary giggles. Magnus and Alec are already out on the floor, in their own little bubble after making sure to check on Clary a few more times before they scampered off into their circle of each other. Clary misses having an atmosphere, one that was shared and one between her and the one she loved. Love. Loves. Loved. Maia.

“Nah,” she says, woozy as she skips the image, head swaying a little. “I’m good right here.” Slowly, she drags a finger up to point at herself. “Sleepy drunk.”

Izzy and Jace laugh freely and Izzy tugs at Clary’s hand. “Let’s _go_ ,” she insists. “You’ll be fine, I’ll hold you up.”

It’s enough to make Clary shiver, the reminder of another girl, with brown skin and a mind as wide and exciting as the ocean, a reminder of a time when another girl held her up through months and moments.

She giggles at the thought, almost purring out a “Maia”, before she catches herself, blearily.

Right. No Maia.

Izzy and Jace must see this, because something like alarm and sadness flows through their eyes for a second before Izzy’s looking out across the dance floor, still lightly holding onto Clary’s hand.

She perks up a small bit and looks back at Clary, the spark in her eyes a little smaller but still trying valiantly to shine. “Clary,” she starts, but her name sounds weird in her mouth, like right now, she doesn’t quite know what to do with it. She points across the dance floor. “Look. Cutie at 1 o’clock. Green dyed hair, braids.”

The woman she points at _is_ cute, wispy and thick alternating braids shocked through with strips of green and eyes lit up with club lights reflecting off her highlight.

Clary knows what this is. Through her drunkenness, through it all, she knows. Izzy has never been very subtle to people who know her.

But what the hell.

Clary’s had more than a few drinks, she can’t see this night going worse or better, can’t see where this will go at all.

She plays along.

Bringing her drink to her lips without sipping, she peers at the girl. “She _is_ cute,” she says, half to herself and half purposely out loud.

Izzy grins. “Let’s go out and dance. _Please?_ Maybe you’ll get to talk with her.” She winks, almost as out of depth with this as Clary in the awkwardness of the situation, but Clary relents, letting Izzy pull her up by the hand and guide her floating and stumbling into the crowd.

She’s playing along.

She’s playing along as Izzy pulls her into a spin, plays along as she tosses her head back to the rippling beat and shouts, laughs. Plays along as Izzy lets her go right as the girl comes by, plays along as she’s dropped back and feeling slow motion as Izzy gives her a thumbs up and another exaggerated wink before heading off.

Plays along as she dances around the girl for a bit, plays along as she turns so no one can tell from this angle how close or far they are. Plays along in that position until she’s certain Izzy isn’t there watching anymore, making sure she’s okay, plays along until she knows Jace is distracted too, plays along as she makes sure Magnus and Alec aren’t near enough to see her.

She plays along as she brushes past the girl, having never really interacted with her at all, plays along as she stumbles away through the crowd and gets as far as she can, still humming and moving in an awful combination that makes her fit in as much as it doesn’t.

Plays along until she sees a wall corner she can dive behind, plays along as she presses herself against a hall that leads to the bathrooms, plays along until she knows she’s not doing anything anymore, doesn’t know.

Because now it’s clear she never went with this because she thought she’d be okay, that it’d all be okay if she let loose, had fun.

Now it’s clear, as she’s heart-pounding, head and shoulders against the wall then off of it, doing a strange dance that doesn’t fit the pounding rhythm in the room at all, trying to get some semblance of _something_ other than _everything_.

She thinks her knees might buckle soon.

Clary doesn’t want to dance with anybody.

She doesn’t want the green haired girl, doesn’t want the beautiful one with the red eyeliner who felt her up as she came over here, doesn’t want to mingle with the woman that tried to stop her and buy her a drink, doesn’t want to dance with Maia Roberts, the one with the beautiful, _beautiful_ head of curls and a smile that shapes Clary’s entire world in its different curves and dots and quirks and spreads and wonders.

She tells herself that’s it, that’s something, she cracked _something_ as she squeezes her eyes shut tight, screwed, but that’s not it.

She wants that, desperately, wants all of that, wants to be pressed up closed against someone and feel swaying hips and kisses along her collar, wants to breathe in the scent of a woman and exhale into welcoming arms that never seem to stop moving as they sway around each other.

She’s _afraid_ of that.

She doesn’t _want_ to want, yet she _wants_ so _badly_.

But even if she can’t stop her desire, she can stop what she gets, stop what she has. Clary can’t have a dance, can’t let herself indulge. If she indulges, it could grow, could manifest into something wondrous and fantastic and lovely and it could make her the happiest fucking woman in the goddamn world but the Clary of today hates that, abhors the idea to her very core, wants to destroy the possibility of it ever happening.

She doesn’t want to _forget_.

She doesn’t want to _move on_.

She doesn’t want to let go of Maia Roberts and her soft hands that would trace the lines of Clary knowing that that encompassed her drawings and her loves and her love as much as her body.

Clary doesn’t want to fall in love like that again if it means she’ll forget the last seven months of her life, the parts where she found home in Maia’s arms and nested there for centuries, the moments and times and constants when she knew in every part of her being that she was Maia’s and that she was _part_ of that… that thing. That relationship. That set of five months. That collection of dates and cuddles and sex and talks and laughs and giggles and arguments and touches and kisses and hugs and feelings and _love_.

She’s so afraid.

She can’t forget this.

She can’t forget any of this.

Not Maia, not a single bit of anything that happened between them, _please_ , not one bit, _please_ , just _hold on_.

She’s grasping, tightly to herself, tightly to the memories because she _can’t,_ **_she can’t._ **

_She can’t forget._

 


	2. Slipping Away From Me; Your Favorite Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She sips her own drink and blames it on the alcohol when she turns to the bartender as soon as the woman slyly suggests Maia buy her a drink.  
> Maia leans on her hand and smiles at the bartender. “Hi,” she says. “Could I get a lemon drop for this lovely lady of mine?” Her smile grows wider around her own words and she turns back to Clary, certain she looks smitten as all hell right now and not caring a single bit.
> 
> Maia's struggling too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! i'm sorry this took me forever (and i'm also sorry new lords and the other wips/fics i've been planning have gone ignored. school has been,,,, a lot, and procrastination has been going strong. i /think/ i'm out of writers' block now?? but it might come back. and also just bc i'm writing doesn't mean it's good. there are probably so many inconsistencies this chapter)
> 
> aNyway your comments have literally been so lovely and they genuinely make me smile so so so much and i think some of them almost made me cry bc y'all are so sweet????? i love sapphic content so much and wish we had more in this fandom so the fact that y'all seem to like mine makes me :""") i love y'all
> 
> okay no more rambling lasdhflsjdlfk enjoy the chappie!!!!

_Fuck_.

Maia lets herself have a second, just one, to bury her forehead in the crease of her elbow. It’s uncomfortable with the sheer shirt she’s wearing.

Just one second. Enough time to mull over and remember why this really was a terrible idea, and not too much so that she can’t pass it off as a sudden ache from her tipsiness.

Even as she gets back up, partially, she clings, clings tightly to images and sounds and sensations of orange hair to spread fingers through and hazel eyes to learn about. Somewhere in her head, she grabs, grabs onto tinkling laughter and kisses before slipping away together, memories that are slipping away from her now. She doesn’t miss the irony.

But now, she thinks, helplessly, even as she’s trying so hard to keep love in her head, love that could only be Clary Fray, she feels it getting lost, quicker and quicker as she forgets to remember in favor of grieving instead.

Her head is tipped back, and she’s barely trying to hide her heartache anymore. The music in the club is loud, coursing through her. She’s thankful Simon and Gretel are off to get more drinks.

It’s deserved, Maia thinks. A few seconds, a few seconds to fall apart visibly.

The music is okay. It’s fantastic actually, perfectly in Maia’s taste. But tonight, she almost wants to indulge. Almost wants to hear words she’s heard so many times from pink lips and a chest clutched against her own ring into the air. Songs they used to sing together.

Maia gets up from the booth then, taking her half finished drink with her. It’s suffocating, and she knows it’s not due to the air around her but she tries anyway, wandering over to the bar that Simon and Gretel have already left. She slides into one of the stools, situating herself before scanning the bottles and glasses they have lined up across the back. It’s kind of gorgeous, and she smiles to herself a bit. Under the lights of the club, the glasses glitter and Maia lets herself be swept away.

“Hey.”

Maia turns her head at the voice, and the touch of a finger against her wrist. _She’s cute_ , she thinks, and her lips pull up more. “Hey,” she replies back, easily.

The woman grins at the welcome response and leans in a little, teetering to the side slightly in a move that could be played off as coy but is more likely due to intoxication of the alcoholic variation. Maia laughs a little to herself at the sight, a reminder of a girl just as woozy while drunk.

She sips her own drink and blames it on the alcohol when she turns to the bartender as soon as the woman slyly suggests Maia buy her a drink.

Maia leans on her hand and smiles at the bartender. “Hi,” she says. “Could I get a lemon drop for this lovely lady of mine?” Her smile grows wider around her own words and she turns back to Clary, certain she looks smitten as all hell right now and not caring a single bit.

Except, her heart stops a little bit right then because the hair she’s looking at is dark and straight, and the eyes that are slightly taken aback by the forwardness of Maia’s sentence are round and definitely not adorned by lids Maia has kissed over and over and over.

Oh god.

She scrambles off the bar stool and out of the area, muttering an “I’m sorry” to the girl and the bartender before shoving through bodies to get out, _out_ , as soon as she can.

God, what was she thinking?

Maia doesn’t, she doesn’t get lost in her thoughts like that. It’s purposeful. And, and she guesses tonight she drank too much or something or Clary left too soon or something because suddenly she did and fuck she almost bought Clary’s favorite drink for another girl, called someone else _hers_ , and now she doesn’t know what she’s doing, there are bodies pressed in everywhere and she can’t, she can’t breathe, she can’t--

Maia shoves someone aside, feels a stab of guilt underneath it all when they shout out, rushes towards the bathroom. She has the sense of mind to find the clearest path, one that’s with less people and definitely not anywhere near the bar or the booth she’d shared with Simon and Gretel, the one she’s long abandoned.

It sucks because the last time she went through a breakup, she pulled herself up. Pulled herself out of the mud because at the time, there was no one else she could rely on. It’s one of the parts of herself she’s the most proud of.

But this, _now_.

Now she has Gretel and Simon and she _had_ Clary, and she knows how to rely on herself when it’s herself she needs but this time she needs _Clary_.

It’s such an awful thought to have after all this time, and Maia feels like she might puke.

Because this breakup wasn’t like the last time, where the hurt wasn’t in the split but in the awful things she had to go through before and after.

This was her and the love of her fucking _life_ being so fucking attached and young and _stupid_ and too full of their fucking selves to admit it after it all exploded from being wound too tight.

It’s been _two months_.

Maia didn’t let herself think about how much she doesn’t care about pride or whatever the fuck was keeping her away until she forgot the scent of Clary’s hair.

She knew, she knew when she came out tonight, that she’d forget more, always forgets when she drinks, even if it’s only a little.

Tonight, she can’t remember the way Clary says her name.

She’s in her own head, trying to find it, traveling just as much in the warm confides of her mind as she is in the overheated club, but she can’t _find it_.

She knows Clary would look up at her, just slightly shorter, and push curls off her hairline so she could kiss right against it, then move to her cheek and place a well-meaning smooch, before nipping at it lightly and laughing, carefree, when Maia scrunches her nose on a grin.

Maia knows Clary would whisper between giggles, soft and sated and _happy_ , relaxed against the bow of Maia’s arm. “Mai”, or “Maia”, or “My Roberts”.

She knows the last would always be accompanied with a toying twist of Maia’s left ring finger, deliberate but mindless, as if Maia couldn’t see this happening and wasn’t melting in every ounce of herself each time Clary did this.

But she can’t.

Fucking.

Remember.

She can’t _hear_ Clary saying her name in her head anymore, wonders if each memory or thought has an expiration date just like their relationship did.

 _Bullshit_ , Maia thinks. Their _relationship_ didn’t need to end. It didn’t. But one argument went too far and suddenly one of them was storming out.

House hunting. They were going to find an apartment for themselves, to live together.

She can’t even remember who walked out that time, only that both were too stubborn to call until it was too late.

She knows, theoretically, it’s probably not too late, the universe is still running, but what the fuck is she supposed to do, call?

 _Yes_ , she thinks miserably. That’s exactly what she’s supposed to do. But she can’t bring herself to.

Two months.

Two months have passed.

How long did it take her to fall for Clary?

She can’t remember.

She closes her eyes and stops, somewhere against a wall now. It was good though. It was wonderful, and it hurt but it was truly, truly wonderful.

Two months is an eternity. An eternity is plenty long enough for Clary to find someone else. To possibly forget Maia.

But Maia can’t do that.

She can’t dance with the beautiful people in the crowd she sees as she opens her eyes, can’t take someone by the hand and spin them and start to feel her heart flutter.

 _It’s too soon_ , Maia thinks, as she feels her lips twist. She wonders if it ever won’t be.

Maia doesn’t want to fall for someone else.

All she wants is red hair, hazel eyes, a woozy drunk that falls into her lap and plays with her left ring finger as she whispers “My Roberts.”

She is the only person Maia wants to hold her tight in that way, to dance against her like they’ve memorized all of each other because they _have_ , and two months and too many drinks of forgetting can be relearned.

When Maia stops walking, having not realized she was moving at all, she finds her opportunity to relearn in front of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bTW i made some [art](https://twitter.com/coffeemundane/status/1109590983082045440) for this fic if you wanna see their ~outfits~ (but spoiler warning for next chapter i guess)
> 
> ok i hope y'all liked the chapter!! talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/coffeemundane) if you want :D


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